Your obedient servant,

c.u.mBERVALE.

Scarcely had Cora's eyes fallen from the paper when Lady Pendragon's carriage drove up to the door.

Glad of the interruption that enabled her to escape from the parlor, and give way to the pa.s.sion and grief and despair that were swelling her heart to breaking, Cora hastened to her bed chamber and threw herself down upon the couch in a paroxysm of sobs and tears.

Mrs. Rockharrt waited in the parlor to receive the visitor, but no visitor came up. Only two cards were left for the two ladies, and then the Countess of Pendragon rolled away in her carriage.

On Friday morning the Rockharrts left London. And on Sat.u.r.day morning they sailed from Liverpool. After a prosperous voyage of ten days they landed at New York.

"My soul! there is Rothsay on the pier, waving his hand to us!"

exclaimed the Iron King, as he led his little wife down the gang plank, while Cora came on behind them.

Yes; there was Rule, his tall figure towering above the crowd on the pier, his rugged face beaming with delight, his hand waving welcome to the returning voyagers. He received his friends as they stepped upon the pier. He shook hands warmly with Mrs. Rockharrt, heartily with the Iron King, and then, behind them, with Cora, and before Cora knew what was coming she was folded in the arms and to the faithful breast of her life-long lover--only for a moment; and then he drew her arm within his own and led her on after the elder couple, whispering:

"Dear, this is the happiest day I have ever seen as yet, but a happier one is coming--soon, I hope. Dear, how soon shall it be?"

"You must ask my grandparents, Rule. Their judgment and their convenience must be consulted," she answered in a low, steady tone.

She had no thought now of breaking her engagement with Rule, though her heart seemed breaking. She still loved that rugged man with the sisterly affection she had always felt for him, and which, in her ignorance of life and self, she had mistaken for a warmer sentiment, and resolved, in wedding him, to do her whole duty by him for so long as she should live, and she hoped and believed that that would not be very long.

Rothsay led the way to a carriage. When all were seated in this, the old man leant toward the young one, and said:

"Well, I haven't had a chance to ask you yet. The election is over. How did it go? Who is their man?"

"They chose me," answered Rothsay, simply.

Cora Haught's bosom was wrung by hopeless pa.s.sion and piercing remorse.

Yet she tried to do her whole duty.

"If it craze or kill me I will wed Rule, and he shall never know what it costs me to keep my word," she said to herself, as she lay sleepless and restless in her bed on the night before her wedding morn. "Yes; I will do my duty and keep my secret even unto death."

"'Even unto death!' but unto whose death?" whispered a voice close to her ear--a voice clear, distinct, penetrating.

Cora started and opened her eyes. No one was near her. She sat up in bed, and looked around the apartment. The night taper, standing on the hearth, burned low. The dimly lighted room was vacant of any human being except herself.

"I have been dreaming," she said, and she laid down and tried to compose herself to sleep again. In vain! Memories of the near past, dread of the nearer future, contended in her soul, filling her with discord. When Cora arose on her wedding morning, she said to herself:

"Yes, this day I am going to marry Rule, dear, loving, faithful, hard-working, self-denying Rule! A monarch among men, if greatness of soul could make a monarch. In that sense no woman, peeress or princess, ever made a prouder match. May Heaven make me worthier of him! May Heaven help me to be a true, good wife to him!"

She said these words to herself, but oh! oh! how she shuddered as she breathed them, and how she reproached herself for such shuddering! The girl's whole nature was at war with itself. Yet through all the terrible interior strife she kept her firm determination to be faithful to Rule; to go through the ordeal before her, even though it should cost her life or reason.

The external circ.u.mstances of this wedding were given in the first chapter, and need not be repeated here.

My readers may remember the marble-like stillness of the bride as she sat in her bridal robes, looking out from the front window of her chamber on the bright and festive scene below, where all the work people from the mines and foundries were a.s.sembled; they will remember how she shivered when she was summoned with her bridesmaids to meet her bridegroom and his attendants in the hall below; how when she met him at the foot of the stairs she shrank from his greeting--emotion in which he in his simple, loyal soul saw no repugnance, but only maiden reserve to be reverenced, as he drew her arm within his own to lead her before the bishop; how she faltered during the whole of the marriage ceremony; how like a woman in a trance she pa.s.sed through the scenes of the wedding breakfast and those that immediately followed it; how in her own room, where she went to change her wedding dress for a traveling suit, and whither her gentle old grandmother had followed her for a private parting, she had answered the old lady's anxious question as to whether she was "happy," first by silence and then by muttering that her heart was too full for speech; how when the bridegroom and the bride had taken leave of all their friends at Rockhold, and were seated _tete-a-tete_ in their traveling carriage, bowling along the river road, at the base of the East Ridge toward the North End railway station, when he pa.s.sed his arm around her and drew her to his heart and murmured of his love and his joy in her ear, and pleaded for some response from her, she had only said that her heart was too full for speech, and he in his confiding spirit had perceived no evasion in her reply, but thought, if her heart was full, it was with responsive love for him.

My readers will recollect the railway journey to the State capital; the procession through the decorated streets between the crowded sidewalks from the railway station to the town house of Mr. Rockharrt, which had been placed at the disposal of the governor-elect for the interval between his arrival in the State capital and his inauguration.

The committee of reception escorted them to the gates of the Rockharrt mansion and left them at the door. There we also left them, in the second chapter of this story--and there we return to them in this place.

CHAPTER V.

THE GREAT RENUNCIATION.

When the governor-elect and his bride entered the Rockharrt town house, they were received by a group of obsequious servants, headed by Jason, the butler, and Jane, the housekeeper, and among whom stood Martha, lady's maid to the new Mrs. Rothsay.

"Will you come into the drawing room and rest, dear, before going upstairs?" inquired Mr. Rothsay of his bride, as they stood together in the front hall.

"No, thank you. I will go to my room. Come, Martha!" said the bride, and she went up stairs, followed by her maid.

Rule stood where she had so hastily left him, in the hall, looking so much at a loss that presently Jason volunteered to say:

"Shall I show you to your apartment, sir?"

"Yes," answered Mr. Rothsay. And he followed the servant up stairs to a large and handsomely furnished bed chamber, having a dressing room attached.

Jason lighted the wax candles on the dressing table and on the mantel piece, and then inquired:

"Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?"

"No," replied Mr. Rothsay.

And the servant retired.

Rothsay was alone in the room. He had never set up a valet; he had always waited on himself. Now, however, he was again at a loss. He was covered with railway dust and smoke, yet he saw no conveniences for ablution.

While he stood there, a shout arose in the street outside. A single voice raised the cheer:

"Hoo--rah--ah--ah for Rothsay!"

He went to the front window of the room. The sashes were hoisted, for the night was warm; but the shutters were closed. He turned the slats a little and looked down on the square below. It was filled with pedestrians, and every window of every house in sight was illuminated.

When the shouts had died away, he heard voices in the room. He was himself accidentally concealed by the window curtains. He looked around and saw his bride emerge from the dressing room, attired in an elegant dinner costume of rich maize-colored satin and black lace, with crocuses in her superb black hair. She pa.s.sed through the room without having seen him, and went down stairs followed by her maid.

He saw the door of the dressing room standing open and went into it. It was no mere closet, but a large, well lighted and convenient apartment, furnished with every possible appurtenance for the toilet. Here he found his trunk, his valise, his dressing case, all unpacked--his brushes and combs laid out in order, his dinner suit hung over a rack--every requirement of his toilet in complete readiness as if prepared by an experienced valet. All this he had been accustomed to do, and expected to do, for himself. Who had served him? Had Corona and her maid?

Impossible!

He quickly made a refreshing evening toilet and went down stairs, for he was eager to rejoin his bride. He found her in the drawing room; but scarcely had he seated himself at her side when the door was opened and dinner announced by Jason.

They both arose; he gave her his arm, and they followed the solemn butler to the dining room, which was on the opposite side of the front hall and in the rear of the library.

An elegant tete-a-tete dinner but for the presence of the old butler and one young footman who waited on them.

They did not linger long at table, but soon left it and returned together to the drawing room.